


For the Sheer Pleasure of It All

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pantyhose, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Quentin has a secret pleasure that demands to be satisfied, but how will Eliot respond when he accidentally interrupts a session of his friend’s indulgence?





	For the Sheer Pleasure of It All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WonderfullyWonderingAlone59](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderfullyWonderingAlone59/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sheer Satisfaction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689219) by [Lexalicious70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70). 



> This is a remix of a fic I wrote for the Veronica Mars fandom. You can find that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689219
> 
> I don't own The Magicians, this is just for fun. This remix is for @wonderfullywonderingalone59, and she knows why. I hope you enjoy it! Comments and kudos are magic, and as always, enjoy!

When it comes to getting what you need without a lot of hassle, there’s something to be said for being a magician.

This was the thought that occupied Quentin’s mind as he conjured what he needed in the privacy of his room at the Physical Kids cottage. He set the package aside before turning to his door and making sure it was warded. The cottage was quiet: Eliot and Margo were off at some party in Manhattan and would be there as long as the booze and witty conversation held out. Once the door was secure, Quentin returned to the package and turned it over to examine its contents: a two-pack of sheer nude pantyhose.

He’d been aware of his fetish for quite some time, starting back in his early teens, when his mother’s friends had come over in their short skirts and sheer hose, their legs always seeming so sleek and soft. Julia had worn them a few times as well, and seeing them on her slender, willowy legs always made Quentin feel weak, like he’d spent too much time in the sun. He’d begun to experiment with wearing pantyhose at age 16, when he was able to buy them in secret with funds from his first part-time job sweeping up and stocking snacks at the small gas-n-go at the corner of his street. The soft, smooth feel of the material over his cock fueled a hundred fantasies Quentin dared not give a name to, and he’d been careful to hide his stock in an air vent tucked away in the corner of his room. His father didn’t venture in there often, as he had no reason to suspect his quiet, introverted son was smoking or drinking. The only friends he had were James and Julia, and they weren’t exactly what Ted Coldwater thought of as the rebellious kind.

_If he only knew that I was the deviant one in the group_ , Quentin thought to himself as he opened the package and let both pairs of hose tumble out onto the bed. He unfolded them, tossed the cardboard backing aside, and let the material run through his fingers. The feel of it made his groin tighten and he pulled off his tee shirt before undoing his jeans. The faded denim and his boxers hit the floor as well and Quentin flinched his way through a ripple of guilt. He stretched the waistband of one of the pair of hose and slid his hands down into the legs in order to slip them on and another voice, one that wanted the pleasure and the excitement that resulted in the indulgent of this fantasy was stronger, and it told the guilt to take a hike. Quentin laid down on his bed, stretched out on his back, the sheer hose pulled up to just under his hips. He used the legs of the second pair to bind his wrists in front of him and then tightened the knot with his teeth. Once he was ready, he closed his eyes and let himself fall into the fantasy that had served him so well in the past.

He was lying in a strange bed in a dimly lit room. The sheer hose were snugged around his legs and feet in the barest suggestion of confinement. His cock, already on the rise, twitched as he allowed the loose end of the nylon dangling from the knot around his wrists to brush against the shaft. A disembodied voice, one that he’d never really put a name to, began to command him from nearby.

“Touch yourself! Touch your cock with your bound hands, you little whore!”

Quentin obeyed, letting his fingers stroke up and down, the dangling end of the nylon teasing the head of his cock, which began to leak. He moaned, and the voice spoke again.

“That’s it . . . harder! Why resist, after all? You know how much you love this . . . my little slut! Pull those hose up! Do it now!” The voice commanded, and Quentin bit his lower lip to quell a low, needy moan as he used his bound hands to pull up the front of the hose over his erection, trapping it under the sheer nylon material. He shuddered, imagining the figure behind that voice pacing back and forth at the end of the bed, watching him, trying to decide if further punishment would be necessary. His lean hips arched and twisted, his toes curled.

“Do you see that I have all the control and that you have none? Do you see? Do you, Quentin? Quentin—"

_“Quentin?”_

Quentin’s dark eyes snapped open as the voice suddenly lost its anonymity and morphed into Eliot’s. As the fantasy faded and things came into focus, Quentin looked up to see Eliot standing at the foot of his bed, his mouth open, his amber eyes wide and unblinking. Quentin slowly pulled his bound hands away from his erection, which was now distending the hose. Eliot shook his head, his shocked expression now giving way to curiosity. He uttered a short laugh.

“Q, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Quentin snapped, trying to cover his utter embarrassment with anger, and Eliot peered at him. After a moment, he smiled as if something had dawned on him.

“Oh! You’re indulging in a fantasy!” Eliot’s gaze flicked up and down Quentin’s lean, naked form. “I prefer thigh highs personally, but I can see the attraction of this, too. No—please don’t stop on my account,” Eliot said as Quentin blushed nearly purple and started to tug his hands free. “You’re obviously enjoying this, so . . . go ahead and finish.”

Quentin scowled and seized upon the only words he could utter.

“My door was warded, hello? And I—I wasn’t expecting you back this soon.”

“Mhh, that’s pretty clear! The party was a bore and the wine was cheap. But now I see the evening might not be such a waste after all. As for your wards, you need to work on them." Eliot sat down in the chair nearest the bed and undid his jeans. Quentin felt his jaw unhinge. 

“Eliot, what—”

“Don’t overthink it, Q. We’re friends, aren’t we?” He leaned back in the chair, one hand around his sizeable cock.

“Uhm—uh huh . . .”

“Then go on—do it, touch yourself.”

Eliot’s words made a cross connection with those in Quentin’s fantasy and sent heated tendrils of renewed desire flow through his body. Eliot smiled as he watched his friend’s neck and chest flush and he nodded.

“So you like a little instruction . . . that’s good! Daddy’s fine with it. I said touch yourself!” Eliot raised his voice a little and Quentin’s eyes closed as a strangled gasp escaped him. Eliot leaned over and tightened the knot around the hose binding Quentin’s wrists. Quentin squirmed and rubbed his bound hands over his trapped erection, and Eliot stroked himself as he watched.

“That’s it. . . you’re close, aren’t you . . . you’re gonna shoot so hard. Don’t stop! I didn’t say to stop, did I? Jerk your cock through those pretty pantyhose, slut!” Eliot’s own left hand moved faster over his own hard shaft as he watched his friend work toward orgasm. Quentin being bound was a sight he’d fantasized about before, but watching him like this, his lean legs and cock encased in sheer nylon was making Eliot’s own erection like iron. “Stroke it Q, that’s it, God, you look so hot, Daddy’s little slut . . .” His words were suddenly drowned out by Quentin’s cry of ecstasy as his friend came hard, his back arching, his bound hands rubbing and moving. Eliot leaned back and wiped a thumb over the head of his own cock and it pushed him over the edge. His head fell back against the chair as he let the orgasm take over, letting the delicious contractions cause white noise in his ears as he blanked out. He came back around to Quentin’s hitching little moans as his friend dealt with the aftershocks of his own orgasm. Finally, Quentin turned his head and the friends locked eyes.

“Uhm, could I have a little help?” Quentin asked at last, and Eliot cast a cleansing spell for himself before he tucked himself away and zipped up before getting to his feet to untie Quentin’s hands and peel the hose off him. He tossed them in the trash and put the other ones in a nearby drawer. Quentin struggled to sit up, feeling boneless, and then raised a brow.

“Hey, waste not and all that.” Eliot went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and tossed it to Quentin, knowing he was probably too washed out to cast the hygiene spell. Quentin fumbled it with one hand.

“Uhm, so . . . you don’t seem too concerned about all this?” Quentin made it a question as he cleaned himself up. Eliot shrugged an elegant shoulder.

“Q, I’m an excellent judge of people. Vanilla-looking boys like you, with your soft ways and even softer mouths, are usually the ones hiding the biggest bedroom kinks.”

“You just seem—I don’t know—really okay with what just happened.”

“Q, honeylove . . . there are two things I know about life. One, everybody has something a little freaky that pushes their go button.”

“And two?”

“Two—never wear underwear to a party because you never know when a situation’s going call for you to get _en flagrante_ with someone quickly. For example.” Eliot nodded to the extra pair of pantyhose, and Quentin blushed.

“I—I guess that’s fair enough,” He said before getting up and heading to the bathroom to wash up more thoroughly. Eliot smiled as watched the door shut and then turned to pick up the discarded hose that hung over the dresser, letting the silky material run through his fingers.

_Sleek, smooth . . . and very stretchy_ , Eliot thought to himself.

Maybe the next time he and Margo were out shopping, she would help him find a style that suited both him and Quentin’s needs.

Something that was just the right fit for them both.

Fin


End file.
